


Primacy

by StarlightCaptivator



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: 'Civilized'!Decepticons, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No War, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Marriage, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tribal!Autobots, Violence, barbarian au, culture clash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 22:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4196499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightCaptivator/pseuds/StarlightCaptivator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a simple medic pays for his duty of care, and a leader gets way more than he bargained for. </p><p> </p><p>Warnings, characters and tags will be added as this is updated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes about this Cybertron- 
> 
> The territories of the planet are split between two main factions. Autobots inhabit the cold and often harsh hemisphere under the ruler-ship of the Prime (Who is quite like the boogeyman to Decepticons everywhere). The much warmer and temperate side is inhabited by Decepticons, who have individual city-states ruled by a council of representatives over all. They have a fair amount of freedom in choosing their lot in life. There's a band of land that's sort of a 'no-man's land' where neutrals can be found, though Decepticons often encourage them to join them for fear of the functionalist Autobots.

If Megatron- a miner turned medic out of Tarn - deigned to believe in Primus, he would be convinced the god was laughing at him. 

This is what he got for taking that job at the border. His armor didn't need the expensive modifications for the more extreme environments one would find there, thanks to his origins. All those credits should of gone - or would be rather - in his accounts. 

Not that they mattered now. 

His processor still rang from the blow to the head that had knocked him offline earlier, and through a haze of warnings on his HUD, Megatron tried to piece together what could've happened to him. 

 

He had been civilian commander at the research facility at the edge of the neutral lands, working with other medics and scientists to develop treatments and cures for quarantined patients in the clinic attached to the facility. 

It was never dull at the outpost, with the second there - a seeker scientist bonded to a massive shuttle - constantly trying to prove he was unfit to lead and take his place. 

The attack had happened with very little warning. 

The afternoon had come with a low priority ping from one of the five  _actual_  soldiers stationed at the outpost, and it simply warned of a group of Autobots likely patrolling by a little too far outside their territory. 

Night had fallen, and Megatron was making the last rounds of the night when he heard the first shouts and explosions from the facility. His processor froze for only an astrosecond before he sprang into action and locked down the clinic. 

He moved quickly back to each patient, and assured them that everything would be alright before inducing stasis for the night using the controls on their mediberths. 

With that done, he shut off the lights and unsubspaced a memento from his mining days: a pickax. It had the same faint glow his optics did, and would be perfect for defending in the darkened building. 

Megatron may have taken his vows not to harm, but he'd interface with the unmaker himself before he allowed any of these Autobot barbarians to harm a single one of these innocent, sick Decepticons. 

When the door leading to the hall broke open, Megatron was ready. With a previously discarded surgical wrench in one hand and his pickax in the other, he made his move as a shadowy figure stepped into the doorway. The wrench flew true and struck the strange mech right on the helm with a loud clang. The mech went down with a grunt and a seemingly bigger mech stepped in to take his place. 

His grip tightened on his pickax as he sized up his opponent and was sized up in turn. While their frame types differed they were of similar sizes, and Megatron would wager the thickness of their armor was comparable too. The intruder had a large battle-axe in his servo, and he appeared to know how to use it. 

When it became apparent that the large mech was going to try to circle him, Megatron made the first move and swung his pick at the barbarian with a bellow. 

The only mote of surprise shown was in the barbarian's unnatural blue optics, which brightened as he blocked the swing and used a clever twist with the blade of the axe to wrench Megatron's weapon away from him. Knocked off balance for only a moment, Megatron came back at his opponent swinging fists. He found himself turned around - and could've sworn he heard chuckling as the servo holding the axe handle made contact with his head. 

 

A bump brought the medic back into the present, and he realized he was moving... or rather, he was  _in_  something moving, and the quarters were pretty close. He was among various items of varying weight and consistencies, probably previously neatly packed away until he appeared on the scene. He gritted his denta at the realization that he had been tied up and tossed into this.... storage unit? as if he was a discarded energon cube swept through him. He remained calm though - a tantrum wouldn't serve but to lower his already low fuel reserves at this point. For several breems he directed his repair nanites semi-manually, until his chronometer could come back online. 

His spark nearly fell into his tanks, as his repaired meter read that he had been out for several joors. Any idea that this could have been some post-raid prank in poor taste by his second was deleted from his thought centers. 

Another bump, and Megatron found himself under a cascade of squishy, sealed bags. A scan told him they were medical grade energon - some of the same he had just inventoried solar cycles ago. Another klik, and he performed a wider scan.

He was in a convoy's trailer. The revelation sent a shudder of discomfort through him. It wasn't as awkward as sticking one's hand into someone else's subspace, but to Megatron - and many others - it was close. 

He tested his comms on the distress channels. After getting nothing, he admonished himself. 

Of course his comms - Decepticon comms - wouldn't work in Autobot territory. 

He performed the widest scan he could, trying to get a read on his captor and those around them. 

The convoy's electromagnetic field flared out in amusement at his probing, while the EM field of the Autobot nearest to them was well annoyed. His scan for the bot pinged as having a mild concussive head injury. Megatron smiled ruefully, knowing he was the cause of it. 

 

A couple of joors later, and the convoy lurched to a stop. Megatron righted himself out from a light recharge as the sounds of multiple transformations echoed around him. He was just shrugging off  the last of the medical energon bags when the trailer opened. He recognized the silhouette as his opponent from the night prior.

The mech spoke to him and he didn't understand a single glyph that came from his mouth. He started to reach for him and in turn Megatron shuffled away as well he could. The mech repeated whatever it was he said, but slower.

Megatron resorted to attempting to kick at him as an alert popped up on his HUD asking for permissions to initialize the proper language packets. He gave his permissions and the pack started to install as the mech drug him from the trailer and hefted him over his shoulder. 

His faceplates burned as those around them guffawed at whatever it was his captor said, and the the mech's hand gave his aft a few pats.

He worked out the words he needed, and with a knee to the mech's chest plates, he shouted directly into his captor's audial. "Let  _go_  of me, you brute!" His captor grunted in discomfort but that was a victory made small by the louder guffaws and hoots from the barbarians around him. 

"You sure this'n's a medic, Prime? That didn't look very _medical_ to me." Megatron stilled in his movements. A  _Prime_  had led the raid on his outpost? It was the  _current Prime_  that had him hefted up on his shoulder like some sort of sack of energon crystals? If that was true, it would mean...

"Now Ironhide." The mech... the  _blasted Prime_  sounded just as amused as his mechs, and Megatron's energon ran cold. "That's no way to talk about my new consort, is it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW so this was originally only gonna be a oneshot but it got out of hand so fast that my head's spinning. Neither of these poor saps have any idea what they're in for. :,D
> 
> If you'd like to read a snippet of Megatron and Optimus' fight from the other side, I'd love to direct you [here](http://meridianbarony.tumblr.com/post/119609301300).
> 
> I've been working on this for quite a while, but I don't have as much done for it as I do for my other stuff. Hopefully updates won't be too far apart!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

 

The old inhibitor claw was really  _itchy,_  and it just helped to add to Megatron's ire overall. He had tried to argue against it, tried to argue that he'd not be able to get far on his energy reserves, especially with his hands still bound, but his protests had been met with chuckles at his accent and two mechs holding him still so they could apply the claw. They at least lengthened the lead between the cuffs on his wrists, so he had some illusion of movement. 

And so, he found himself sat on some semblance of a padded stool next to the Prime ( _THE PRIME_  of all mechs) at the head of the room. 

Well,  _room_  was putting it kindly. It was more like some large fortified tent than a room, connected to another couple of tents. 

Earlier, a warrior far smaller than himself or the brute who kept him hoisted over his shoulder had approached in a harried manner, spewing nonsense about a fast approaching acid storm. From what Megatron could see the hazy dawn skies were clear, but his captor took the little mech's words to spark and he had been stuck back into the trailer as the party put together their... accommodations. 

Once everything was set up and Megatron was brought back out, the party started. Unfamiliar words and song blurred together in his processor. A hand made it's way to his side early in the celebration and his optics snapped up to the faceplate of his captor. He felt a microklik of surprise at seeing the now uncovered face of the big mech, but he quickly and viciously deleted any errant thought threads that popped up in favor of pinning his smile with a cold glare. It was bad enough that he had to dig to engage the hostage protocols he would never had thought he had to use. 

Ironhide, the mech who's helm he had dented in, openly watched the two of them with some unidentifiable emotion that Megatron would call it some sort of warm pride if he was wasn't an Autobot. 

He tore his gaze away in time to lock optics with an Autobot putting something that resembled a ration of fuel in front of him. Indicators of some design lit up on the sides of his head as Megatron stared him down. Once the masked bot backed down he gingerly picked up the fuel with the initial intention to scan for type. The constant cloying hunger got the better of him and in short order he was downing the viscous cube in slow gulps. He justified his quickness with the need to have his processor running at full power.

Empty tanks would just be detrimental to escape. 

He felt a little better, and initiated an analysis of the fuel he had just consumed.

Around him he noticed that even with the revelry that several pairs of optics often looked his way, or to the mech beside him, who still kept his damnably  _present_  grip on Megatron's side. 

As long as he didn't get overcharged on the fuel they gave him, then he shouldn't find himself in a situation where he was completely helpless. He did still have legs, after all. Getting overcharged morphed into a non-issue though, even as another cube of fuel was placed in front of him by the strange mech with the light-up indicators.

His readout told him in no uncertain terms that most of this fuel was energon that had once flowed through a living being, and it's thickness was due to additional minerals and material that had originally been something's flesh. He clamped his intake before the purge could initiate and jumped to his pedes, and stiffly pulled an about face towards the tent connected- this startled the slag out of the mecha around him.

 He could do naught but pace in short, half-halting steps as he worked to initiate the line of code that would stop him from losing his fuel. As disgusting he found it he did need the energy it provided. He had just gotten the purge to abort when it dawned on him that much of the material surrounding him, that he had the misfortune of riding on just joors before was likely made of mechanimal hides. A quick scan gave his fears confirmation, and the pained lurch in his tanks was back. 

In reapplying the commands he missed the cyberwolf whistles and hoots from the other room. He did not miss when a servo landed on his shoulder, however, and rubbed it's way down his arm. Megatron spun out of the grip and around to face the big mech - the  _Prime._

His faceplates were contorted into a grimace in the face of the big mech; he bit back the angry questions that would no doubt be taken as accusatory for the singular fact that he didn't want to test out the fears that plagued the common Decepticon sparkling's mind concerning the stranger. In turn, the blue and red mech just gazed at him from his slight height advantage. A hint of concern was apparent in his strange blue optics. 

"Does something trouble you, Consort?" Megatron's mouth fell open in incredulity of such a question. He steeled his resolve before taking a step back. 

"You can't force me to take a marriage rite with you." The words weren't easy for his processor to dredge up through his translation software, not to mention the fact that his spark spun wildly in his anticipation of how the  _Prime_  would take his rejection. The hostage protocols screeched at him that antagonizing his captor was the wrong way to get out of this situation in as few pieces as possible. 

To his surprise, the big mech let out a soft chuckle. "I'm glad you have a sense of humor," he said, taking a step closer to follow Megatron's retreat. "We've already  _completed_  the marriage rite." His voice morphed into a purr, and the feely servo was back again. 

Well  _that_  was bad news. He pulled out of reach again, circling back around so he wouldn't end up against a wall. "You don't even know my name! You gave me fuel that used to be  _living!"_  He said in a hiss, changing tactics. Prime halted in his playful stalking and cycled his optics at him in a slow blink before standing up straight. His next touch to Megatron's shoulder was a lot like the ones the medic had glimpsed between this mech and his comrades. 

"Consort, we  _live_ on Primus." Megatron was suddenly reminiscent of his mentor, when the old medic  _thought_  he was answering a really obvious question he would adopt the same tone. "He's gifted us his own lifeblood, isn't it right for him to have gifted us the fuel of his other creations too?" 

 Megatron ruthlessly overrode his purge coding. "And the walls?" The wording was wrong, but his point got across. 

 "Their hides give us shelter in the interim between the settlements." A note of pride rung through Prime's tone. Suddenly, Prime was closer again. His thumb rubbed a slow circle in his grip on Megatron's pauldron. 

 The atmosphere between them changed with a quickness, and Megatron picked up on it right away. It was abundantly clear that his captors, and this one in particular had no concept of proper social cues at all. "Come now, Consort. Tell me your name, and I will find a way to... ease your upsets." 

If not for the situation, for just  _who_  his captor was, the shiver that raced up Megatron's backstruts in response to the deep, purring voice would have almost been pleasant. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Triumphant trumpet noises- Here we are, chapter two! This took a little longer than I was happy with to get out, but my Camp Nanowrimo project took precedence during July, and a family visit took priority until just recently. :U But here we are! I hope to have another update to you all in early September, so thank you for waiting! I'm a little overwhelmed by the response I've gotten so far. :,D
> 
> If you'd ever like to blab at me about this or any of my other fic, my [askbox on my tumblr is open!](http://meridianbarony.tumblr.com/ask) I also have [a tag for this AU too](http://meridianbarony.tumblr.com/tagged/barbarian-AU), though there's some other stuff kicking around there as well. :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _WHOA HEY STOP RIGHT THERE_  
>  I usually leave my notes to the end of chapters, but In case you didn't see the updated tags, this is your warning.
> 
>  **This chapter contains sex where the consent is _extremely_ dubious on one side** Should you want to skip that, I put in horizontal rules so that you can read the before and after. Non-con elements are _not_ intended to be a central theme in this work, and I certainly will warn every time they come up.
> 
> Otherwise, Enjoy!

Megatron really had no frame of reference for the situation he suddenly found himself in. For one thing, on those occasions he found himself seeking out the physical comfort of another he was used to being the one doing the 'pursuing' as it was. 

Plus, he was used to all parties being completely amicable and in clear communication about such activities. 

As he found himself cornered between the large, makeshift berth that was set up to one side and his amorous captor on the other, he found that he had some hard decisions to make. Hostage protocol told him that his one, highest priority task was survival. At all costs - even of what was left of his dignity. The cuffs and claw still attached to his frame were depressing reminders that even on the horror fuel that he wouldn't have the energy for a proper fight, and at this moment there was no viable escape. The Autobot wanted to frag him? Then he better well let him - according to the protocols. 

He still had one more hand to play, based on the fact that this mech, this _Prime_  didn't seem much like the stories he was used to hearing of Primes and he pushed back as clever fingers were trying to work their ways into armor seams. 

"Megatron!" He said, and the mech blessedly paused to give him a quizzical look. "M-My designation is Megatron, I'm from Tarn. Don't you want to know that?" The hostage protocols told him this was good - if he seemed more like a person and less like a fragtoy to the Prime, he'd be more likely to come out relatively unharmed. If there were two things he could do it was talking and medicine. The words had come out choppy, but they were very obviously understood if the brightened expression on the blue and red mech's faceplate was anything to go by. 

"I'm... Optimus." He replied. "Prime. Optimus Prime." It was almost like an afterthought, and that certainly _wasn't_ the designation in general Decepticon intelligence. Megatron was just thinking that he could work with this when the mech - his captor - _Optimus_ took a firm hold of him to kiss him soundly. It froze his line of thought right in place before tossing it out, and much to his further annoyance the feel of that hot mouth against his and just how thrice-damned _good_  it felt was all he could concentrate on for that moment. He hadn't even realized his cooling fans had clicked on when Optimus pulled back, looking all too pleased with himself. 

"I'll be the _best_  mate to you, Megatron of Tarn," he murmured, already sinful voice made huskier now with a touch of static. He pressed him back then, sending both of their large frames crashing down onto the precariously creaky excuse for the berth. Friction lit against his interface paneling and the dull roar of cooling fans backed by a powerful engine lept to his audio feed. 

He opened his mouth to protest again, about the proximity of the others. His unwanted lover informed him that for their stay through the storm and following night, this tent was theirs alone, and he silenced him with another searing kiss. A click and soft sound of a transformation sequence sounded off like blaster fire.

The hot, slick press of a spike against his codpiece signed and sealed his fate. 

 He hated his frame's reactions as he watched his interface protocols come online and request activation of his hardware, and it was some sort of momentary ironic reminder for him of days long past during his residency in Kaon. Giving in wouldn't compromise his integrity any. How many times had he told nearly that exact line to mecha that had found themselves in some semblance of his position? Optimus pulled back, gave him an indulgent look, and gently rutted down on him in a slow stroke. 

 

* * *

 

Megatron allowed his array to activate and clicked aside his primary protective cover and his valve cover cycled open directly after. The big mech above him gave him a confused look at the partial activation, but was quickly pacified when Megatron shifted his hips minutely - purposefully -  in turn. That drew his attention back to the event at hand. One roll of his hips, a second and the blunt head of a spike certainly bigger than he was used to pressed into his valve. He was surprised at the level of lubrication that allowed the slow slide and stretch inside him. He turned down his vocalizer preemptively, offlined his optics to focus on sensation. 

Strong hands moved on his legs, caressing twin paths up his thighs to settle into his hip joints with blunt digits. It afforded the Autobot a good point to touch, and a sensitive one at that. Charge rolled it's way up Megatron's systems with the first real thrust of the Prime's hips, the second brought his back bowing off the berth under them and gave Prime a good chance to slip his servos upwards and into the space made there. He used his grip to bring them closer in his next thrust and it bottomed him out with a wet clang of hot pelvic metal meeting metal. 

His objectionable mate was well vocal in his pleasure, and the thought that it must have been a long time since Prime's last interface came up unbidden. The mech bent in his movements and pressed down firmly in slow kisses where he could reach, mostly to plating and seams on Megatron's abdomen. 

In any other situation, Megatron would have found Optimus attentive, his quickness toward overload some sort of endearing. At this stage though, he just wants him done. He didn't have to to wait too long, as when Prime spilled he did so with a pleased sigh turned moan as the crackle of charged transfluid set off a small climax in Megatron. When their systems started to cycle down from the interfacing high, Megatron reactivated his optics. Optimus' engines let out a pleased rumble, he took his time in withdrawing and resettling them into some semblance of a comfortable position. 

* * *

 

It was surprisingly easy to face down the dirty feeling that threatened to wash up over him with a wall of pure concentration and spite. Optimus _Prime_  was happily pressed into his back, an arm flung over him in his recharge. Megatron tested his bindings slowly, he didn't have enough room to say, withdraw a diagnostic cable to jack into his captor, but sometime between coming into the area and his... liaison with mech who called himself Prime, the inhibitor claw had been disabled. He began the ginger task of slowly flaring his plating to dislodge the thing, and  softly sighed out vent of relief when it released from his frame.  

Diagnostics for his t-cog and activatable medical functions in his root mode cued back up and left an annoying little reminder that he'd not be able to do much with his wrists still in the energy-draining stasis-cuffs. He supposed the best he could do for the moment was to initiate a light recharge, aided by the faint sickly sweet after-pulses from his unwanted overload. He off-lined his optics and focused back on the warmth of the frame behind him. The hostage protocols purred away happily in his processor, sure he had kept his plating secured for another day. 

 He was asleep before he had too long to further dwell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still September when and where I'm posting sO I TECHNICALLY DIDN'T MAKE SOME OF YOU WAIT TWO MONTHS. 
> 
> Anywaaaays, this whole thing happened. I feel like this chapter helps illustrate personalities a little more, though the next one will do that for Megatron in _spades_. 
> 
> I will state this, 'cause I know the question will come up: Optimus doesn't think he's being coercive here. He will learn eventually, that he was. 
> 
> You have C_A/Copperzealot to thank for this chapter being out today! ;D 
> 
> As always, If you'd ever like to blab at me about this, life, the universe or sock prices, my [askbox on my tumblr is open!](http://meridianbarony.tumblr.com/ask) and if you missed it, this fic has been added to the War Brides Collection! If you like this, go check out the works and the people there. There's some supremely excellent fic there. :D 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

When it was time to depart from the temporary encampment, the inhibitory claw still had not been re-applied to Megatron's frame. He supposed he had his performance in Optimus' berth to thank for that, as he hadn't left his side yet. His warriors seemed amused by his actions, no more so than the red mech - 'Ironhide' - whom Megatron assumed was possibly his second. Ironhide seemed to have taken a small liking to him as well, as he prevented the other warriors from improperly popping out the dent in his helm with no small amount of ire.

"You r'mind me of an old buddy of mine." He had said, as Megatron withdrew the proper tool. " Ratchet used t' be a dead shot with his equipment too. Used t'joke he shoulda been forged a catapult with an aim like his."

Megatron froze at the familiar name but went right back to working, schooling his expression into a deeper scowl. Optimus Prime, right beside the two of them, must have been observing closely as his perk got somehow perkier. "Consort? Do you know of a medic named Ratchet, where you come from?"

"Megatron, not consort." He corrected for the nth time, popping the dent from Ironhide's helm with a quick jerk and a yelp from the mech. "And yes, I know of a medic named Ratchet." The pair looked upon him with expectant optics, and he considered a moment the merits of clamming up or not. "He was my mentor, and like a creator to me when I chose to become a medic."

"Chose?" Ahh, eavesdroppers. Megatron wondered when one would rear their helm. "You _chose_ to be a medic?"  The golden mech asking was big, but nowhere near his size. He stowed away the tools he had been allowed to use and rose to his full height.

"I was constructed and activated as a miner." He spoke loud and clear, locking optics with the golden warrior. "It was what I wanted to do, and I left the mines in order to make that happen. Aren't you here because you want to be?" It was a question he already had the answer to, as intelligence about Autobots reported they were a functionalist society at core.

The golden mech didn't balk at his tone nor question, he just frowned at him. Hostage protocol screamed at him to not antagonize the Autobots any further, but vindictiveness was overcoming him. "Or are you just here to be _dumb muscle?"_  Neither broke the stare, and the long moment grew longer as the mech appeared to grow more irate as he absorbed Megatron's barb.

Ironhide guffawed and clapped Megatron on the shoulder, drawing their attention away from each other and to him.

"Y'sure y'aren't Ratchet's creation?" He asked jovially. "Because that surliness can't be _anything_ but inheritance." Several mecha snorted and chuckled at the declaration. Situation diffused, the gold mech retreated to the side of a mainly red mech of similar size, glancing back his way all the while. A touch at his elbow drew his attention back to the Prime, but he pulled back away when it was apparent that he was being led to back to the trailer.

"I don't want to ride in that." he stated flatly, "I have perfectly good wheels, you know." Prime gave him an indulgent look that was growing infuriatingly frequent in appearance and took his elbow again. This time, the grip was strong and sure.

"Once we arrive in Iacon, I will present you to the council as my mate. We can remove your bindings then, and you can be back on those wheels. Besides, you've taken in very little fuel lately. We need to be efficient with our time getting home." He spoke _again_ in a manner that to Megatron's audials was akin to a tone one would use when trying to placate a sparkling or a confused newbuild. Frustration rose above ire as strength prior unknown to Megatron manifested in Prime, and despite the firm stance and dug in pedes - he was being moved. He wanted to howl and struggle further, but a new thought thread popped up, and he stopped struggling.

Stasis cuffs were just that, and while they physically impeded his arms, it wasn't as if a _partial_   transformation was impossible... and while he was no expert in communication technologies, he had put together so many blown audio suites and communication suites in his tenure of as a medic that he felt confident that if he had to do some sort of field triage....

"Wait... Optimus, wait!" His voice shot up into a higher register for a moment and it gave the Autobot pause. He worked to make his optics soft, the more vulnerable. The hostage protocols adored this course of communication.  "I don't have a single comm frequency, and I'll not be held in an over-sized.... over-sized _subspace,_ cut off from everyone else! _"_

 Even behind his mask, Optimus' expression lit up. "Oh! Of course. I'd imagine it'd be a little less unsettling with the general chatter." He approached and withdrew a hard line cable before Megatron could suggest his medical lines, and someone milling about getting ready cyberwolf-whistled.

 He ignored them and the other voyeurs peeking at them as he jacked Prime's cable in. A handshake and a data packet pinged at the edge of his awareness accompanied by the smallest caress of charge, and after a quick virus scan (you could never be too careful, even if that care was with one who had very recently swapped paint with you, after all) he installed the given frequencies into his communications software.

  
Noise exploded into his consciousness, it swayed him where he stood for a moment as the new software and firmware slotted into place and adapted to his differing setup. It was almost overwhelming for him, to see the difference from the inside, and so his precarious sway was only half feigned.

Prime was there immediately with a feely servo on his waist and on his shoulder, and he was rumbling something concerned sounding. Megatron allowed himself to be led to the trailer's hatch to sit down. He took a moment longer than really needed to uphold the act before he spoke again.

"I'm fine. I'm _fine, I said."_ he put his hands on Prime's shoulders in turn, a gesture born partially of reassurance, and mostly of a need to get the big mech away from him before his hostage protocols got too happy with the situation. "I just need to rest a while."  Starting to become predictable, Prime took the opportunity Megatron gave him, and suggested again that he make himself comfortable in the trailer.  Megatron scowled and pretended to think on it before he assented.

It was mere kliks that he had been settled that the trailer lurched in movement, off for the next leg of their journey.

Megatron's first order of business when they got moving was to regulate his EM field. If he _felt_ like he was placid, resting and not up to something, he was less likely to be detected. It was a tactic that worked well in the mines when he was conducting field repairs during the busiest times, when all hands were supposed to be on deck.

Thank the stars Prime hadn't tried to force a sparkbond on him. It would've been far more difficult to hide his plans and intentions from a brand new bondmate, who could experience everything he did and vice-versa. Not to mention the fact that he'd have to remain in proximity to Prime until it settled. The thought almost sent a shudder through his plating.

Once he felt that he could regulate his output in a reasonable manner, he sought out the medical energon the Autobots had taken from his outpost. He had refused to refuel from the Autobot's dead fuel, and so was running a little lower than he wanted to for a possible escape. But the medical energon was refined in-house to be the most optimal for their inpatients.

It was clean, it was nutritious, it wasn't made from things that were alive.

Megatron, personally, enjoyed the taste of the thick fuel. After being born into and mines and living off the copious amounts of lowgrade they were given _..._ he got hold of a bag, and carefully ripped into a corner with his sharp denta. The first taste of the clean fuel strengthened Megatron's resolve. He was sure hed be out of this situation before he knew it.

It ended up taking three full rations of the medical grade energon to get his tanks to their full capacity. A surge of energy flowed through his lines and with it, renewed confidence. 

Slowly, very carefully he initiated the tiny transformations that brought his digit-based tools to the forefront. He needn't be surgically delicate here, and it was in short order that the stasis cuffs were off of him and on the trailer's floor in pieces. Next, he stuffed everything he could to aide in his survival into his subspace. Mostly this was made up of rations, though he did find a place for his memento pickax. Taking it back sent a rush of symbolic power flooding through him. With that and the confidence, he found hope. 

Megatron's next order of business would prove riskier, as the extent of his own self repair had never included helm work. He was one of the ones lucky enough never to have to deal in losing a sense or two, and even after his reformat, he still had a sensory crest under the helmet part of his head.

 Megatron opened up his comm display, and after comparing the frequencies and making a few hopeful code adjustments, he removed his helmet and opened up the hardware of his comm unit. He could practically hear Ratchet asking him what the frag he thought he was doing, experimenting on himself like this. 

Careful work and a sound knowledge of his schematics kept him from making any mistakes that would cost him his hearing and comms, and when he put his helm back together, he hoped his untested system would reach, he'd only have one chance to use it, after all.

 

His chance came at the end of the day, when the caravan stopped for the night. He retrieved a couple of less disagreeable fur blankets, and asked over comms if he could recharge next to his mate.

Optimus' field flared out in delight, and he agreed easily, and so it was soon that Megaton was curled up next to his wheels, shielded from the other Autobots by Prime's altmode. He eased his field and body language down into feigning sleep, and it was soon that a gentle, non-invasive scan showed Prime as the same- Megatron was sure he wasn't faking, though. Optimus Prime seemed to trust him even after such a short time of knowing him- that was the sole contributor to Megatron's impending escape. 

With a subspace full of pilfered supplies, Megatron got up in the middle of the night cycle and crept away the best he could without alerting whomever was standing guard. He was down in his altmode once he was sure that the sound of his transformation wouldn't carry, speeding away from his captors as fast as his bulky engine would allow. He'd be damned if he couldn't get back to the borderlands without a struggle.

 The broadcast began when he was a joor out, powerful and under minor Decepticon encryption. He found himself wishing to a diety he didn't believe in that someone would hear him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's chapter four! I feel a little doubly bad for 1. Taking longer then I intended to get this out and 2. leaving you all at this sort of cliffhanger. SO: expect chapter 5 sooner, rather than later. :,3c
> 
> As always, my [askbox on my tumblr is open!](http://meridianbarony.tumblr.com/ask) Feel free to come say hi or poke around my blog or what have you. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Interlude

As a rule of thumb, Ratchet _hated_ new students.  Forged and constructed students came online thinking they had all the answers pre-loaded and coursing through them in instinct.

Sparked medics often came on far too young, and those looking to learn and reformat tried his nerves and his limited patience to no end. Those looking to become medics had to work hard to prove themselves as capable, prove that they could handle the program load, the patients- the sheer rough reality medicine brought.  
  
Life on the Decepticon side of the planet was easier where repair was concerned, though not without it's own problems. The climate was far warmer than his homeland of Iacon. While it wasn't as cold at the likes of say- Praxus or as treacherous to reach as Rodion, Iacon was the seat of the Primacy and so, the seat of Autobot civilization.  
  
To call Iaconian society rigid would be akin to casually mentioning that energon was probably flammable.

  _Probably_ .

 If you weren't teaching you _had_ to be working, no questioning. And doctors working in the field without too much of a course load were expeted to take on apprentices if at all possible. If you taught _and_ worked? One of those students was expected to gain an apprentice-like status. It was only part of the reason why Ratchet had left the Autobots when he did, among with the breakdown of a few relationships that held him there and the functionalist crack down on his work.

They hadn't liked that he had been moonlighting, as he had jokingly called it. They didn't like he was sneaking about and repairing disposables and guttermecha in secret. Serving under Sentinel Prime and Zeta Prime had been nightmarish for him.

 When he got out, he did so with haste, not looking back at what probably were the charred remains of every bridge he burned. He was sorry for the loss of a few mecha, but he couldn't let his morals down any longer, his coding; every fibre of his being railed against the subjugation of those he was determined to heal.

 

 The past vorns of his long life brought only two students to mind in a truly fond manner. His last student-apprentice during his life in Autobot territory was an ambitious and talented medical jet. The latter student was a cold-constructed reformat case.

 Pharma had been ambitious, cocksure and worst of all: he had been right most of the time. He absorbed new information like a sponge and lived as large that an expensively forged, _brilliant_ medic could. He was talented and engaging and was a joy to work with. Unfortunately, he also enjoyed getting under people's plating and he sucked right into the powerful functionalist circles as soon as was possible. He was the type to try and accrue favors if he thought someone possessed something he could want, and more often than not, Ratchet had watched him get it.

 Pharma's morality programming must have been faulty, it was the only excuse Ratchet could come up with.

 His more recent favorite apprentice had some sort of sparse knowledge of the body, knew some more rudimentary things about how anatomy and transformation worked as compared to his classmates. He assumed blandly that his time as a miner has something to do with that. His snap-quick wit, cool head under pressure and sharp, silver tongue had him standing out among his peers from the first day of instruction. 

Megatron hadn't bothered to strip off his mining decals until after his certification as a medic and Ratchet didn't blame him for it. Reformatting wasn't always a sure thing, especially when it came to a profession as demanding as medicine. He had made it through, though, and so Ratchet accompanied him to his repainting, all the while discussing his plans for the future. Surprisingly, he had kept some of the dark gray in his design, but it went well with the accompanying red and lustrous white. 

It was a pleasant plus, too, that Megatron still had a surprising amount of ambition left in him. Most reformats who came in aiming for lofty goals were just happy to have gotten a position in a clinic or hospital when their schooling was through with them, but no- not Megatron. He had earned offers from multiple hospitals at the end of his education and had taken the one at the hospital linked with the Kaonian government.

 With talks of the possible construction of a medical wing onto one of the more productive scientific outposts right out in the edge of neutral territory, the former miner had gotten a strange glint to his optics.

 And by Primus, he had gotten that position. Vorns of hard work at Kaon General had earned him a no-nonsense reputation to rival Ratchet's. He didn't take non-compliance from patients, and he didn't take slag from staff and impatient non-patients.

 They collaborated more than once, and it had made Ratchet strangely proud to see that his apprentice had indeed sharpened his tongue to rival his own when in one instance, a conservative old rust-heap of a Vosian senator voiced his displeasure about being operated on by an Autobot-turned-neutral and a cold-constructed reformat.

 The verbal lashing that Megatron gave the old bot was akin to something a fed-up caregiver may give to their overly spoiled charge and by the end of it, the bot had meekly assumed the position on the mediberth, deciding that perhaps the pair knew what they were talking about and he needn't waste their time any further.

 That was a good memory. He felt very much like a proud creator in that moment, and was sure he couldn't have done better in putting the cranky old flier in his place.

 Ratchet allowed a smile for half a klik into his cube of energon. Up until his position had been finalized, He met regularly with Megatron when their schedules allowed, talking like old friends about life, politics and medicine.

He considered taking some time to go out to the outpost to visit and peek in on what progress was being made on the diseases they were working on. He'd offer his opinions to on the doctors that would allow him t, assist, and passively observe where allowed. He knew he had valuable perspective, even if that had to be limited to palliative care for this brand of patient.

A pleasant feeling settled in his tanks at the thought of a visit, only to replaced with a very sudden ire extinguished by heavy dread when one of his assistants burst into his office with no warning. "Ratchet, Did you hear?! One of the medical outposts in the Neutral band has been raided!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ssoooo, here's that chapter I was talking about. :,D -dodges tomatoes- HEY NOW, NONE OF THAT. Chapter six has been in the works for a while now, so don't worry about hanging on that cliff for too-too long. 
> 
> I really have a lot of fun exploring this world, so expect an interlude like this every five chapters. :D
> 
> They won't necessarily be character stream-of-consciousness style bits like this one, but like this one, could help to answer some questions people are having. 
> 
> Speaking of though, I really appreciate the comments you all leave me! I'm not the best at getting back to them in a timely manner, but I adore them. You all are clever as heck and I have to figuratively bite my tongue to keep myself from confirming or denying anything! :,D
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have another small update, to tide you over until after I graduate in a few weeks. :) I appreciate the patience y'all have had and the understanding as I've been wrestling through the last of my undergrad work. :D Hopefully it won't be too long after I'm done that I have another update, but- chapter seven is shaping up to take us well over the 10k word mark for this fic, so we will see. 
> 
> Enjoy!

"Hey. Sunny. Hey.. wake up. Sunny. Sunstreaker. Wake up." Sunstreaker roused from his light recharge to his twin's voice nattering away at him. Irritated doubly at being roused from the light doze he was enjoying and the fact that it wasn't even his watch, he went to shove his twin away, only to end up pawing at the empty air.

Filled instantaneously with the chill of apprehension, Sunstreaker bolted upright from his bedroll.

Sideswipe's voice had come from _within._

**Look, I know. I'm sorry. We can talk about this later, Prime's shareware is getting away!**

Sunstreaker knew what he had to do, knew what his brother needed before Sideswipe could use their mostly untried method of communication.

Pharma was going to absolutely slag them when they got back to Iacon. The program keeping them separate- _normal_ \- was weak, needed both of them to maintain it at all times.

He was on his pedes in moments and raising the alarm with an unpleasant wide-band data-burst before he folded down into his alt-mode.

He ignored the strange bolt of satisfaction he could feel both simultaneously internally and separate from himself as he pushed to catch up, away from the rest of the camp.

* * *

 

To Sideswipe's benefit, Prime's plaything hadn't noticed him yet. Not that the big mech would have, with the rumbling of his massive engines having woken Sideswipe from the light doze he may or may not have been partaking in... in his... _complacency_. There wasn't two bolts about this situation, he was sure their new addition wouldn't have the bearing to do... well, _this_. He had gotten complacent, and Prime had gotten indulgent.

He wondered to himself and found his thought process mirrored back in turn through his gaining twin as he carefully- slowly- closed in on the massive medical transport. Perhaps it was a coding glitch on the part of the surly mech, too far from his function and assigned patients for too long.

**Too long in getting away. Too far for the fuel he's had during our journey.**

Sunstreaker's thoughts rang loud and clear in his mind, disjointed by the lack of use- and the lack of a _want_ to u-

 **Knock it off, I'm almost there**.

And there he was- all magnificent golden fury in the dark of night, gunning his engines in a bid to match his twin.

A flash sensory scan sluiced over them and all at once a great rumbling roar rang out as the big mech tried to push himself harder, having clearly noticed them.

It was a good effort, but he was obviously not built to try and maintain such speeds on rough terrain for as long as he had been. Not like Sideswipe and his brother, with their aerodynamic forms and toughened tires.

They didn't even _joyride_ at speeds as low as they were currently maintaining, so moving together on either side to flank the bigger mech was the simplest of maneuvers... even when the medic tried to intimidate them away with a dangerous series of serpentine veers.

He'd obviously never tried to outrun warriors like them before, to sacrifice his speed in such a manner.

Sideswipe cut on his brakes immediately at the first impression from Sunstreaker, hanging back to be in position to assist.

A hydraulic push and jump on his wheels had Sunstreaker in the air in his root mode, black digits reaching for a gap in the thick armor (that would really have been better suited for a tank) and the medic transformed too, denta gritted and bared in a snarl of a language the pair didn't understand.

Hang time lasted for just a fistful of sparkbeats, punctuated with the flare of carmine optics blazing forth hatefully in the dark.

A painful sounding screech of metal-on-metal accompanied a shower of sparks and hard impact; Sideswipe turned his aft-end flipways in a graceful transformation that launched him right back towards the other two and into the thick of the fray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Innocent authorial whistling- More set up for later things? I have no idea what you mean~! ;)c


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured y'all might like an update before I start work tomorrow. ;) Enjoy~
> 
> Warning for a **non-consensual sexual act** and a discussion of such in this chapter. Those wanting to avoid the bulk of it will want to skip from the second horizontal rule to the third.

Megatron met Optimus' disappointed turbo-pup gaze with a stony mask as he approached. He hadn't gotten away, no, but he had gotten his broadcast off after a harrowing drive and a hard, long chase over terrain his tires wasn't used to dealing with. He had been forced back to his root mode to grapple the two mechs that had come after him ahead of the pack; there was no way he would have let the golden menace peel up his plating.

The fight he put up was commendable, but was no match for trained warriors such as these.

His pained joints and swelling face agreed with him.

If he had known the pair was a set of slagging _twins_ before they caught up to him, he may have tried to push his engines to redline, for as synchronized they were.

He might've been a little more cautious in slipping away, since one had to have alerted the other far faster than over comms.

The golden mech and his red counterpart kept him wrestled him to his knees after a hard struggle and several unmercifully hard blows, pressing back as he bucked against them as the rest of the group approached and came to a stop at various distances. The mech with the vocal indicators huffed and puffed through his vents as he approached him cautiously with the inhibitor claw at the side of his leader, and Megatron tried harder to jerk away.

"My patients _need_ me, Prime. You can’t keep me! I'm not _yours_ to keep." He ground out each word through gritted denta as the claw magnetized to his frame and shut down his transformation capabilities. Optimus looked down at him with a naked, new measure of pity and ignorant admiration as he came to stand in front of him.

"Your old patients are no longer any of your concern." His tone was one of that with boundless patience, and oh how it _rankled_ , at Megatron. He hated to think that he was being treated as if only some sort of possession - or worse, spoken to like a naughty sparkling who didn't yet know the playground rules. "Your place and calling serve something higher now." He barely avoided spitting the insults that came to mind as the overclocked hostage protocols finally, firmly crept back into his conscious sphere and locked down his vocalizer despite his smelting-pool hot anger.

The transmission that he had managed to broadcast _had_ to have connected _somewhere_ in the Neutral band, the range of his plea was so broad.

Megatron _had_ to hold on to that hope.

"We're not going to make it back to Iacon on time if we don't hurry, Prime." Megatron's attention drew back as the green scout from before approached. "We've got rougher terrain ahead of us, and the storms are volatile this time of year." Optimus inclined his head in the ghost of a thoughtful nod, contemplation plainly expressed even masked.

His voice came out _disappointed_ , of all things.

"Wheeljack, upload that sedative program you've been tinkering with to my consort’s cortex, please."

The mech with the vocal indicators visibly startled, but his hesitation was only very momentary, and he moved towards Megatron again with a purpose and a hand in his subspace. Panic welled up inside Megatron from deep inside - the idea of possibly deactivating as opposed to just becoming a captive again was a far, far uglier prospect to him.

The hostage protocols, as bland and informative as ever, reminded him that his compliance was key to not being killed - just as the masked mech jacked him into a hastily withdrawn device and the world went dark.

The disappointed look of his chief captor followed him down into unconsciousness.

* * *

  
Time passed.

Only impressions followed; haphazardly marked time where it couldn't truly be marked.

Ethereal sensations tagged along:

Dust settling in seams.

A distant roar of whipping wind and the white noise of a downpour.

The background hum of vital systems.

At the very edge of his non-consciousness: Another.

Monitoring?

Visiting?

There was no activation in the mind to dwell on it

Eventually he finally sunk deeper, out of limbo and into a true recharge.

* * *

  
Optimus made his way down his mate's body in gentle kisses, he left soft nips at the edges of newly gleaming white and gray chest armor. His hands were hot - much like the rest of his frame, already charged up and primed from his careful cleaning of his sleeping consort when they arrived at encampment beyond the furthest walls.

He couldn't wait until they were in Iacon proper in just a handful of days, where he could present Megatron to the council and become situated in the life that was promised of domestic bliss.

Optimus pressed his field down to intertwine with Megatron's as he woke, he traced the medic's red insignia as a thought occurred to him and he had to still himself before his excitement shot into his field and roused his poor, jumpy mate completely at his idea. He sat up a little further to survey the medic's strong frame, letting his hands rest on gleaming dark grey pelvic armor.

Optimus felt carefully for the manual latches to his mate's nearly seamless interface paneling and was delighted when he found them and the primary panel slid aside with a soft click. He wasted no time coming in close to the closed secondary coverings, and he laved his glossa over his mate's spike cover with zeal.

He was sure a good, strong overload would sweeten the mech's disposition before they entered the walls and dealt with the prying optics of those mecha who would be interested in the _hopefully_ short outsider status that his mate would have.

Finding him his place among the other medics should fix the rest.

The secondary cover spiraled open and Optimus couldn't contain his beaming grin as he worked with his mouth to coax the spike from it's sheathing.

 

* * *

 

Megatron was warm. He felt clean, comfortable and there was someone... _attentive_ touching him. He figured he was in his apartment in Kaon and his hazy processors didn't bother correcting him with an update from his memory cache.

He felt as if he was overcharged, and his meta supplied him the visage of his last longer-term lover indulging him in a rare manner, far slower than usual for their often hectic lives. His fans cranked on to dispel the growing heat of his systems, and the thought crossed his mind that such vigor was more than was routine for the normally stoic mech, _especially_ those times he used his not often seen mouth to treat him.

"Affirmative. Megatron: currently dreaming."

The warm feeling suffused through him suddenly snapped cold in his lines, and he struggled to sit up. A sharp, instinct-driven medical override drew him out of the last of the forced recharge all at once - memory and dream dissolved away, and a red visor between his legs morphed into surprisingly earnest blue optics whose corners crinkled in a smile upon seeing that he was awake, even as his mouth drew down on him earnestly and sent a bolt of unwanted pleasure up his backstrut.

Megatron drew back with such a spring of released energy away from the Prime that he came into a sitting position against something that felt suspiciously more wall-like than the mesh skin tents he had grown used to. He had no time to further survey his surroundings to confirm, however, as when the mech before him got over the temporary shock of his awakening, he followed, expression almost worshipful.

He wasn't restrained (praise Primus' non-existent _ball bearings_ he wasn't restrained!) and thus was so much more effective in pushing the amorous mech off.

"No- stop- I said **STOP** , dammit!" The Autobot froze, looking all for the world like a cross between a kicked turbohound and an Oxideer in a spotlight. He sat back, and that stunned look turned to concern.

"...A-Are you well? Have I injured you in some manner?" Though the words _felt_ mocking, the tone was sincere, and the mech's optics darted from Megatron's face, down to his still exposed spike, still glistening with oral lubricant. He wasted no time in overriding those priming interfacing protocols, forcing his spike to depressurise and return uncomfortably to its housing.

"No," he said, quickly, firmly. "...Yes, in a manner of speaking." Just as firm, even with the unfortunate hesitation. This matter needed to be taken care of if Megatron was to keep hold of his sanity for however long his stay with these brutish mecha of the cold-lands. At least his so-called 'mate' looked willing to listen now, if only for the fear of having hurt him.

The wide, stricken optics set into his fully exposed, concerned expression sent a prodding at the back of Megatron's processor with just how _young_ the person before him looked. He resettled himself (at a respectable distance, of course) and cleared his vocalizer, trying to clear away some of that new tension, so he could say what he needed without the hostage protocols re-engaging fully.

It didn't help.

Deep red optics met blue and held them and he braced as he spoke.

"I _don't_ want you to... _touch_ me without my express permission." His pronunciation wasn't the best through his metaphorically rusty translation software, but the point got across - and he could practically see the cogs turning in the Autobot's helm. Optimus settled on looking confused, with a slight pout more suited to a _much_ more youthful mechanism.

Prime shuffled himself a little closer and looked to want to reach out to him despite his words. "Your body has always responded beautifully to my touch... are you sure you're not hurt?" Megatron looked just as ready to swat any hand to come too close away as he was moments before, so he withdrew.

The gaze held.

" **No**. Do you understand why you may not touch me without my permission, with _what you've done_?" He kept his tone forceful, authoritative - some hope held in the idea that if his sprouting hunch was correct then that perceived authority would be taken to spark.

He watched some conflict cross the expression of this mech who claimed him as spouse, but pressed his lips together, unwilling to give a hint despite protocols begging to soothe, for his own sake.

He pressed on watching, watched as Optimus grappled with the concept. Watched as a kind of turmoil crossed through his expression and came out of it.

"But..." his expression scrunched further, bearing denta - if a bit unintentionally as he bit out his words. "This would... You can't be meaning to imply that I have been..." His lips formed the sound, only to be worried by denta. Distress rolled off him in waves.

Megatron's gaze on him remained pitiless, weighted. Though he was not without the _slightest_ modicum of something akin to pity - as he didn't make the mech say the word himself.

" _Raping_ me?" It was an ugly word, ground out in that ugly language and made harsher by flipped out protocols Megatron regretted having consented to installing in the first place.

Optimus Prime flinched with a certain flavor of despair, and Megatron took the chance to cross his arms over his broad chest, to add that much more weight to his judgment and the younger mech's internal judgement.

They sat in an acidic silence for so long, until Optimus reached a hand out again, though with a countenance begging for forgiveness. Megatron allowed it, and Prime laid his hand near his knee-joint with a respectful slowness, digits splayed out flat and hesitant and _still_ on contact with his plating.

"Consort... _Megatron_ , I apologize." The turn of phrase made this young mech sound far older than he was. "It was never my intention to hurt you." Every plate, _every strut and circuit_ of this barbarous young 'Prime' with his antediluvian ideas showed of his remorse, his horror that despite whatever _he_ thought, _Megatron's_ perception of the matter was what held the importance.

The hostage protocols _sung,_ and Megatron hated Optimus Prime more in that moment than he thought possible before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter almost got out of control in length, but I'm pleased with where I'm cutting this. _So much set up still._ |,D 
> 
> I really do appreciate the love and encouragement y'all have given me on this fic! Readers like you make the world go 'round. ♥


	8. Chapter 8

 After that, they had what Megatron was firmly thinking of as a _tenuous_ understanding. It was an 'understanding' that had him positioned behind Prime as they walked through the semi-permanent encampment towards what looked like more of a foreboding citadel than a city proper. Megatron was flanked on either side by the warriors that had taken him down.. who knew how long ago. Whatever his captor's mech had plugged into him had scrambled his chronometer, and he wasn't about to do something like _ask_ for a _repair._  

 His pride wouldn't allow it. 

The leisurely pace the group affected as a whole was telling enough as it was. There was a sense of elation around the band of warriors, despite some scuffs and limps among them that Megatron cataloged on automatic before ruthlessly deleting from his sub-processors. 

His "bedside manner" was _not_ about to become any better for those holding him against his will. 

He was stronger than them- if not physically, then where will was concerned.  His loss at the hands of the frontliners still stung, and would for a while. 

Again, he forced his systems to direct his repair nanites to internal repair.

Worse off yet, Optimus kept looking back at him, as if he expected Megatron to make a break for it -- wherever "it" was, so deep into the cold Autobot land that they were. Megatron didn't bother allocating any energy to being offended by this notion. 

He watched as the little science mech -- Wheeljack, he thought his name might be- slithered through the crowd to the Prime's side. Megatron caught a couple of words in the murmurs of their group- Home, Aid, Far- _something._ Their damnable mouthguards prevented him from trying to work out the rest, but it seemed to him that the smaller mech was looking for something like an early dismissal from their group.  

All the better that he got it, Megatron thought- all the better for some strange Autobot to keep their plugs out of his ports and their code out of his systems. His chronometer showed no progress on it's recovery, after all. That was no matter for the moment, he'd focus on learning those around him, on finding out what he could as his systems took their time. 

"You're not going to say anything, _right_?" 

Megatron didn't slow in his gait, but his gaze jerked to one side as one of the frontliners holding his figurative lead whispered to the other. 

"I don't see that I have a choice, Sideswipe." The golden one hissed back with finality, he seemed to have more sense than his red counterpart, glancing at Megatron warily as he spoke again. "It's not right." 

Like a flash, the memories of re-capture sprung to the forefront of his mind. Curious and Curiouser. For a moment, he smiled ruefully. "Autobots look down on twin-bonds, eh?" He said it at a murmur, knowing only his guards would hear him and did they ever-- The red one- Sideswipe halted abruptly for just a moment before catching back up. Megatron knew he'd hit his mark, and filed away the information for later use. These two had underestimated him before, he'd be damned if they did it again. 

The golden one's expression soured further, until Prime glanced back again and upon a long, assessing look, decided to relieve them of their burden. 

It was in short order that the group came to a meandering stop, and it was with an unwanted gentleness that Optimus' hand found it's way to the small of Megatron's back. At least he had the good graces to look guilty for it as they went. Surely, a Prime didn't ask public permission to touch their mate. 

In front of them, a wall began to shift and momentarily, Megatron forgot his ire. 

In his homeland, metrotitans were little better than mythology, flights of fancies meant for newsparks to wonder at before recharge. An archway formed from this once-a-wall and it was a nearly entrancing watch, as panels came up and formed loose mosaic pictographs of the mecha among the crowd. Nothing that was fabricated could've moved in such a manner; the metal looked as rough-hewn stone, and the stone moved as easy as his own armor on his frame. 

Murmurs of joy and relief and fatigue rose up, coming out an overall jubilant din as they got moving again. Many split off for a moment to touch the walls of this arch as they passed through it and it was to no sudden realization to Megatron that they were doing so in _greeting_. 

Anxiety took root deep in his fuel tanks, a knot of dread drew his field in tight and Optimus looked at him quizzically, but said nothing.

Megatron couldn't let his spark sink like this- couldn't let despair take hold, though he knew any forces that would deign to try and come get him.... should any have been sent... would be easily repelled between the Autobots on the outside and Iacon i _tself._  Nevermind the unforgiving moorland, between the neutral band and the lush temperate climate of the upper Decepticon empire.

It was no wonder so little was known about Iacon, no wonder Ratchet didn't want to talk about the _whys_ of Iacon's rumored impenetrability. 

Grimly he made peace with the fact that the city-- the _citadel_  was alive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the funny thing is, I had this written _before_ people were back on their bullshit. You have my spiteful soul and my enabling friends to thank for this chapter, as I was going to wait to finish writing chapter nine of this fic and several chapters of my other ongoing fics to post this. |Dc 
> 
> Thanks for reading! And remember kids, it costs $0.00 to not read something if you don't like it.


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